


love as big as a risk fills you up (and you can't put it down)

by Jenstar



Category: Promare (2019)
Genre: Christmas Presents, Fluff, Happy Ending, Light Angst, M/M, Mutual Pining, Secret Santa, what's the tag for 'they are boning but there are no explicit depictions'
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-27
Updated: 2020-12-27
Packaged: 2021-03-11 04:15:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,985
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28368972
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jenstar/pseuds/Jenstar
Summary: Gueira and Meis know, everyone knows. Lio and Galo are absolutely fucking, but they’re decidedly not dating. Nobody ever talks about it, though, except for the one time Meis tried to bring it up after Lio spent two hours staring at the popcorn ceiling of his room listening to the Cocteau Twins on full blast.Now the question Lio is faced with is: what the fuck do you get your decidedly not-boyfriend who you sleep with several times a week as a secret Santa gift?
Relationships: Lio Fotia/Galo Thymos
Comments: 25
Kudos: 164





	love as big as a risk fills you up (and you can't put it down)

Lio Fotia does not believe in God. Forming a symbiotic relationship with blazing alien lifeforms doesn’t leave much room to wonder about Heaven and Hell or whatever. Although, Lio has never been particularly pious in the first place. But Lio _especially_ does not believe in God right now as he cradles a piece of crinkled paper towel in his hand, plucked from one of Ignis’ old fire boots, with a name scribbled on it in Aina’s loopy scrawl.

_Galo._

Lio and Galo are great pals. _Exceptional_ pals. The kind of pals who can shoot the shit at a bar or the arcade or in a living room and not get tired of each other even after spending an entire twenty-four shift together. 

They’re also the kind of pals who make-out a few times a week and occasionally even end up in each other’s beds, emphasis on occasionally, because Lio has decided that roughly three times a week can be classified as occasional and definitely not, like, a _thing_.

He can’t exactly pinpoint when it all started. A few months after the restoration efforts of Promepolis were in full swing, the Mad Burnish crew was invited to join Burning Rescue, making it incredibly difficult to not spend time with Aina and Lucia and Remi and Varys and Ignis. And Galo. Mostly Galo. 

And it’s great, wonderful even. There’s just the small and actually calamitous problem of Lio’s unwavering feelings for Galo, feelings he’s too scared to categorize and tackle head-on, shoving them in the same corner where he shoves any rationalized thoughts about learning how to cook. Kraft mac and cheese has served him quite well so far, and so has waving away any notion of romance in favor of practicality and survival. Spending years as the most wanted criminal in the world does that to you.

But co-piloting a giant fighting alien robot in space with the power of your converged minds and souls also does things to you, things like learning every hill and valley of your co-pilot’s thought process, their hopes, their fears, the everyday nuances that you so easily brand into your mind. You find yourself mapping them out, laying out all their parts on the table and being charmed by every piece. 

It also does things like flipping a game of truth or dare sideways during cleaning duty resulting in making out in the broom closet for an hour. 

Things sort of escalated after that. Now they keep each other company in a tangle of limbs beneath the dark blanket of midnight. It’s a transactional affair, they scratch the other’s itch and move on from there. Lio appreciates the lack of a label, is grateful for the casualty of it all. Emotional intimacy on a level past platonic is something he’s sure he doesn’t have the capacity for, and even if he did, he knows Galo isn’t interested in it. If he was, he would have said something. That’s just the way Galo is, and Lio would know, converged minds and souls and all that. 

But sometimes, when Lio is feeling particularly bold, he’ll stay for a bit of pillow talk and indulge in those hopes, in those fears, grasp onto every whispered confession beneath the sheets and carefully tuck them away like tiny, cherished treasures. 

Lio knows better, though, knows his friendship with Galo is something they both don’t want to ruin. So he’ll keep those feelings locked away in some deep crevice along with any misguided inclinations towards learning how to cook. 

Now the question Lio is faced with is: what the fuck do you get your decidedly not-boyfriend who you sleep with several times a week as a secret Santa gift?

If God was real, he’d be laughing at the golden gates while honking the metaphorical clown nose Lio is wearing.

“And that’s everyone.” Lucia chucks the old boot off to the side and clasps her hands. “Are we doing bets this year or what?”

Meis raises a brow. “Bets?”

“Bets,” Varys confirms. 

“Count me out.” Remi stretches his arms out before walking up the stairs towards his bedroom. 

“I’m gonna need you guys to elaborate,” Gueira says with the enthusiasm of a child anticipating dessert before dinner. 

“Every year we make bets on who is gonna give the best secret Santa present. Naturally, we all bet on ourselves,” Aina starts. “Varys won last year.”

“And the year before that,” he adds. 

“But I’m definitely winning this year.” Galo has his flimsy piece of paper towel in a determined vice grip, a large grin sprawling on his face. His smiles always push his cheeks up, carving out his cheek bones in lightly freckled peaks. Lio tries not to stare. 

“You fucking wish, Thymos. How much?” Gueira takes out his wallet. 

Lucia grabs a dusty jar off one of the shelves and removes the lid. “Twenty per person.”

Gueira and Meis shove an amalgamation of fives and singles into the jar. Aina, Varys, and Ignis throw crisp twenties into the pile, and Galo fishes out two tens. Lucia pulls a bag of quarters seemingly out of nowhere and dumps them all into the bet jar. 

“What’s the matter, Lio?” Galo teases. “Scared?” And suddenly it’s not about Lio’s weird feelings anymore. It’s about winning and beating Galo at his own game, even if Varys is the reigning champion. Lio wants to win. He wants to win so badly. The added bonus of giving Galo something incredible for Christmas and potentially watching those impossibly blue eyes glimmer with unbridled awe is just that, an added bonus and definitely _not_ the point. Winning is, and so is the one hundred and sixty dollar pot. Lio crams twenty singles into the jar.

“Not in your damned life.”

Lio has no fucking idea what he’s going to give Galo for Christmas. He sits up on Galo’s bed and brushes some sweaty strands of hair out of his face before scanning the room. It’s remarkably tidy, every surface wiped clean of dust, every knick-knack and portrait perfectly placed in their designated spots. The moonlight filtering through the blinds doesn’t provide much light, and Lio rolls off the bed to get a closer look at whatever the hell he can find. He’s desperate for inspiration. 

He gravitates towards the dresser and smiles at all the framed photos. There’s plenty of Galo and Lucia pulling pranks on Remi with the occasional Aina and Varys selfie sprinkled here and there. Lio laughs at the one with Galo and Gueira arm wrestling at the beach, and his gaze lands on the picture tucked at the top right corner of the propped mirror. He tugs it free and a blush heats his cheeks.

It’s a simple photo, really. Lio distantly remembers Remi taking it during one of their pho nights. It’s just a photo of Galo and Lio laughing over comically large bowls of noodles. There’s cilantro hugging one of Galo’s canines, and there are literal tears running down Lio’s face. It’s actually kind of embarrassing, but Lio doesn’t give a shit. He can’t recall what they were even laughing at, but as he fondly runs his thumb over the glossy finish, he decides it doesn’t matter. He carefully puts it back before moving onto Galo’s closet. 

Lio can’t help the loud snort when he opens the closet doors. There’s no way Galo _doesn’t_ have more shoes than clothes. Each pair of Nike’s and Timbs are neatly organized and color coded on several rows of shelves. How Galo was even able to fit all of it in his tiny closet, Lio will never know. And while Galo would absolutely love a new pair of shoes, Lio refuses to add to the presumably growing collection of colorful footwear.

“Hey,” Galo says from the doorway. He’s running a hand through his damp hair, and a towel hangs off his hips. Lio stares at the bruise he sucked just beneath Galo’s jaw and smirks.

“You have too many shoes.”

Galo rolls his eyes. “You know, I’m not gonna take that from a guy who wears socks and sandals to the beach.”

“The socks prevent sunburn!”

Galo’s laugh is loud and rich and wonderful and Lio is so fucked. “Kinda funny thinkin’ about an ex-burnish getting a sunburn.”

“Yeah, whatever.” Lio is acutely aware of the irony.

Galo plops down on his bed with a yawn, and Lio takes that as his cue to get dressed. He’s already slipped into his jeans and sweater, and as he works on the laces of his boots, Galos says, “You can stay if you want.” 

Lio doesn’t think he’s ever heard Galo’s voice reach such a gentle pitch. The offer is small and soft and seemingly sweet, and if Lio squints his eyes through the moonlight, he swears he can see something akin to hope glossing over Galo’s expression. 

But Lio knows better, knows that Galo is just being kind and earnest because that’s how he’s always been. Thoughtful to a fault, accommodating to everyone despite what he wants or what he’s feeling. As much as Lio wants nothing more than to be cradled in the sublime warmth of Galo’s arms, maybe even wake to a kiss at the nape of his neck in the hazy glow of the morning, he won’t put that pressure on Galo, especially if Galo is just being polite.

So Lio says, “I’m alright, but thanks anyway.” He gives Galo a small smile, who slowly gets off his bed and rummages through his dresser. He steps in front of Lio and gently pulls a red beanie over his head. It’s easily one of the softest hats Lio has ever worn, and it smells like pine and citrus, like Galo. Lio wonders if the color of his cheeks match the beanie. He hopes Galo can’t see the flush through the dark.

“It’s pretty cold out,” Galo says. He hesitates before carefully tucking a strand of Lio’s hair behind his ear. Lio almost asks if he can feel how hot his skin is right now.

“Uh, yeah. Pretty cold,” Lio answers like an idiot. He shakes his head for a moment and tugs the beanie over his ears. “I appreciate the hat.”

“Any time.” Galo furrows his brows a bit, and Lio figures he’s probably been staring too long. He smiles at Galo again before heading towards the bedroom door. “You sure you don’t want to stay?”

Lio turns at the question and surveys Galo’s face. The look he’s wearing is unreadable, the laughable sliver of moonlight not helping in the slightest. Lio doesn’t want to get his hopes up, though. He shrugs a little and says, “I’m sure, Galo.”

Galo scratches the back of his head. “Okay. Text me when you’re home.”

Always so fucking thoughtful. “I always do.” Lio shoves his hands in the pockets of his jeans and leaves Galo alone. 

The Christmas market lies on the cusp of the Prompolis city limits. The pines lined along the edge are decorated with festive tinsel, and a glistening ornament hangs off every branch. The stands are all wrapped in warm holiday lights, and the auburn glow from the stands coupled with the chilly weather stirs Lio’s excitement and nerves into a sticky weight in the pit of his stomach. He tugs on the edge of Galo’s beanie, the scent of citrus settling his unease. 

Gueira and Meis are swinging laced hands back and forth as they peruse the wares of each stand. Lio almost teases them for it, but then he remembers their rare courtesy when they definitely noticed the red hat earlier and didn’t say anything. He smiles when they share a chaste kiss instead. 

Gueira and Meis know, everyone knows. Lio and Galo are absolutely fucking, but they’re decidedly not dating. Nobody ever talks about it, though, except for the one time Meis tried to bring it up after Lio spent two hours staring at the popcorn ceiling of his room listening to the Cocteau Twins on full blast. It was the same day Lio realized he was in deep with Galo, and that realization hit especially hard when Gueira refrained from making an innuendo, the severity of his feelings painfully obvious. 

They suggested being honest with Galo, but they don’t _get it_. Galo doesn’t hide things, isn’t particularly good at hiding anything, especially something as overwhelming as his feelings. Hearts on sleeves and all that. He’s clearly content with what they have, and if Lio has to grit his teeth through a bit of the sting, then he’ll take it. 

Besides, it’s not like they _only_ hook up when they’re together. Sometimes they don’t even touch each other, and they’ll spend time eating their weight in pizza, watching a movie, or whatever perfectly platonic thing they want. But when they do, Lio wishes they would touch, wishes he could rest his head on Galo’s shoulder and revel in the warmth of an arm bundling him up with all the strings attached. A brush of a thumb over a cheek while they wait for coffee here, a small kiss as they walk through the streets there—touching because the swell of sweet affection becomes too much to bear and something must be done. 

But touching is reserved for the tangle in the sheets, and Lio’s learned to be alright with that. Mostly. Sort of. A little. 

“Here, Lio.” Meis shoves a hot chocolate in Lio’s hands, who is grateful for the heat as well as the extra whipped cream. 

“You good, boss?” Gueira asks while shoveling a beignet in his mouth. Meis sighs before wiping the powdered sugar off Gueira’s cheek and licking it off his thumb. Lio tries not to roll his eyes.

“I’m fine. Let’s do some secret Santa shopping before the both of you clean out the market’s entire supply of fried desserts.

“Don’t give us that!” Gueira argues. “I saw you eyeing the fried Twinkie tent. I thought you were gonna pounce as soon as you saw it.”

“And I didn’t. You know what that’s called?” Lio takes a long sip of his hot chocolate. “Growth. You two should take notes.” He wipes the rest of the powdered sugar off Gueira’s cheek with an aggressive swipe and is rewarded with Meis shoving a handful of snow down the back of his coat. Lio chugs the rest of his chocolate, and soon the trio is flinging snowballs at warp speed in the middle of a crowded Christmas market. It takes a misfired snowball smacking a vendor in the face for them to finally stop.

“Come on you fucking hooligans.” Meis weaves one arm with Gueira’s and the other with Lio’s. 

They browse through the market for a few hours, and Lio finds himself balanced by Gueria and Meis, the overwhelming nerves of buying something perfect for Galo almost dissipating completely to make room for their excitement over the one hundred and sixty dollar pot.

Because that's what it’s all about for Lio. Winning. And the cash. And not trying to win the favor of the object of his affections with the most dazzling gift imaginable. 

It doesn’t take long for Gueira and Meis to find gifts, and Lio starts to feel the pressure as it gets later and later and Gueira’s complaints about his outrageously large gift feeling heavier get louder and louder. He almost gives up entirely until he notices a tent tucked between one selling rocks and crystals and one offering thick, wool socks. 

An older woman sits behind a small torch and works something taffy-like through the fire. She’s wearing protective goggles, but Lio can imagine her brows knit in concentration. After a few minutes, she cuts the flame and quickly shapes the substance with pliers, adding small details while it’s still hot. Once she’s done, she places a delicate, lovely little glass swan on her display table. She takes off her goggles and smiles at Lio, the freckles on her cheeks reminding him of Galo.

“Like whatcha see?” She fans a hand over her table. There are more glittering glass swans sitting among glass flowers and intricate glass designs. Necklaces and pendants swing from a bar above her, and larger pieces are displayed on shelves behind her, glass swords and beautifully woven glass faeries. Suddenly, Lio is hit with a wave of inspiration. 

“Actually, yeah. Are you able to do custom designs?” He asks as he shoots off a text to Lucia asking for a favor.

“Technically, all my pieces are custom. No two are alike.” She tosses her long, gray braid over her shoulder. Lio huffs out a small laugh.

“I guess you’re right.” Lio’s phone vibrates with a notification, and he shows her the jpeg file he received. “Would you be able to do something like this?”

She fishes a pair of glasses out of her apron and squints through the lenses. “I can make anything. Question is, how big do you want it and when do you need it?”

Lio points to the back. “As big as one of those faeries, and in about a week.” He says like a question. 

She raises a brow. “Rush job, huh? You kids and your procrastination.”

“If you can’t do it, that’s alright,” he taunts, and the laugh he receives is loud and bombastic and so much like Galo’s he can’t help but laugh along with her. 

“You’ve got a bit of pluck about you. I like that.” She rummages around a drawer, pulls out a calculator, and punches some numbers. “I’ll get it done in about four days. It’s gonna cost this much.” She holds up the price and Lio bites the inside of his cheek to stop himself from grimacing. He gives her a nod before taking his wallet out. 

“Where did you go?” Meis asks once they’ve reconverged at the exit. 

“I was securing my win,” Lio answers. And if Galo’s gift is almost double the contents of the bet jar, he keeps that to himself. 

Kissing Galo is definitely one of Lio’s top five favorite things followed by running his fingers through that blue head of hair and Zebra Cakes. The man knows what he’s doing, readjusting only when necessary, tilting his head _just so_ to fit their mouths perfectly. Galo’s lips are so impossibly soft and taste like mint, and Lio absolutely melts every time he earns a groan when he sinks his teeth into the pulp. 

They’ve been kissing on Galo’s couch for a while, and Lio is pinned beneath Galo’s weight, his legs steadily wrapping themselves around his waist. Lio’s breathing picks up when he feels a deliciously calloused hand roam his stomach underneath his sweater. Before Lio can respond, that hand retreats, and Galo abruptly pulls away.

“Lio,” he starts, and Lio stares at his kiss-swollen lips. “Can I ask you something?”

“Of course,” Lio says as he loosens his grip around Galo’s neck. There’s uncertainty weaving throughout Galo’s gaze, and Lio isn’t sure what to do with it.

“What are we?”

The first thought that crosses Lio’s mind is, _Why the balls is he asking this right now?_ The second is, _What the fuck do I even say to that?_

Because what is he supposed to say? He knows it’s not a trap, Galo doesn’t have a single cunning, conniving bone in his body. The question is exactly how it’s presented with zero ulterior motives. It still feels loaded, though. Maybe it is. Maybe it’s Galo trying to tell Lio he’s being too clingy or something. Or worse, maybe he’s figured Lio out. 

Lio decides to play dumb.

“Uh, firefighters?”

This startles a laugh out of Galo, which provides momentary relief for Lio until Galo gets off him completely and pulls him up alongside him. 

“Alright, that was kinda funny. But really, what...what is this?” Galo levels Lio with an open gaze, and Lio thinks he sees hope in the shade of sparkling azure reflecting back at him, but he convinces himself he’s just imagining it. 

So he goes with what’s best for everyone involved.

“We’re friends, Galo. Really good friends.” Lio almost laughs but stops himself. He knows it would sound incredibly bitter. 

“Friends,” Galo repeats. He runs a hand through his hair before he asks, “And that’s what you want? A friends with benefits thing?”

Lio wonders if Galo feels relieved, he has to if he’s asking for confirmation. 

“Yeah, if that’s what you want to call it.”

“Okay,” Galo sighs. His expression is unreadable again, and Lio actually kind of hates it. But it doesn’t matter, because soon they’re kissing again, and it’s like they didn’t have that short-lived conversation in the first place.

After a few minutes, Galo stops again and asks, “Is it alright if we don’t do this tonight?” Galo’s brows are furrowed with unease, and Lio wants to smooth them out with a finger. 

What he does instead is say, “We don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do.” Galo breathes out a sigh of relief before standing up. Lio doesn’t know how to feel about that.

“Thanks, Lio. Wanna order some pizza and just hang out instead?”

“Fine with me.”

It’s so easy to spend time with Galo. Lio doesn’t have to say very much usually, Galo is good at over-telling stories and giving his very loud and long opinions on things. And when Lio does have something to say, Galo is always an enthusiastic listener with enthusiastic answers. 

“So who do you have for secret Santa?” Lio asks in between bites of pizza.

Galo looks absolutely scandalized. “I can’t tell you! That’s like against the law!”

“Don’t be such a damn square, tell me.” Lio playfully nudges Galo’s leg and gets promptly smacked away. 

“No! And don’t try to trick me, either.” Galo shovels down another slice of pizza, and the pure, self-indulgent joy plastered on his face makes Lio’s cheeks hurt from smiling. He’s such a simple, marvelous man, and Lio is so in love he wants to punch a fucking wall. Galo’s grin is huge as he reaches for another slice, and Lio fixates on the bit of grease hugging the corner of his mouth. Galo catches him staring. “Is there something on my face.”

Lio thinks of Gueira and Meis and powdered sugar. “Actually, there is.” He leans forward and swipes the grease away with his thumb. Before he wipes it on a nearby napkin, he silently relishes the way Galo’s freckles dissipate into the red flush blooming on his skin. It’s not as cute as a light dusting of powdered sugar, but Lio doesn’t care. If pizza grease is what’ll give him the opportunity to touch Galo like this, then fuck it. 

“Thanks,” Galo whispers before eating another slice of pizza. 

They chat for another hour before Lio decides it’s too late and puts on his boots and coat to brace the frost outside. He tries to tug the beanie over his head, but Galo gently catches his wrist and tugs it on for him instead. Lio digs his nails into his palms to counter the pressure in his chest. 

“I’ll see you tomorrow at work. Thanks for the pizza,” Lio says, and he walks through the threshold of Galo’s apartment, shivering as the cold bites at his cheeks.

He makes it halfway down the outdoor hall before he hears, “Lio!” 

Galo is standing on the concrete barefoot, arms crossed with all his weight leaning against the brick wall. He’s got that fucking expression again.

“Did I forget something?”

Galo shakes his head. “Do you wanna stay? You can stay, if you want.”

Lio does want, he wants so terribly. That’s the problem. Galo keeps asking what Lio wants without ever asking himself what he wants. Plus, if Lio takes advantage of his offer and stays, that's a whole other can of worms. Staying would create the illusion of something more, of a possibility that does not exist. And as much as Lio wants to pretend for a little, he knows it would break him cleanly in half.

“I’m gonna head home, Galo.”

Lio gets a call a few days later, and soon he finds himself in front of the glassblower’s tent alongside Lucia, who insisted on coming since she was the one who sent him detailed pictures of the design in the first place and deserved to tag along lest she finds herself with a loose tongue and accidentally letting it slip that Lio has Galo. Lio couldn’t argue with that. 

“This was a fun design to work with,” the glassblower says before placing Galo’s gift on the table. “I can wrap it up for you, but I wanted to show you first.”

“Holy shit, Lio,” Lucia says with a slack jaw. “You might actually win.”

The glass matoi stands at roughly eleven inches tall. Lio can’t help but be impressed as his gaze trails along the glittering details. The white glass is almost opalescent, glimmering in iridescent shades. The visor is the perfect shade of seafoam green, and the red is as lustrous as rubies. The strands look like they’re billowing in the wind like ribbons, and Lio could not have asked for anything more perfect. The glassblower must know this because she looks as smug as ever. Lio can’t even be mad. Galo is going to shit his pants.

“Fuck yeah I will.”

Lio is feeling especially bold tonight when he brushes back his sweaty bangs to get a better look at Galo. Afterglow looks good on him, Lio thinks as he watches that half-lidded cerulean stare glisten underneath the curtain of moonlight filtering in through the window and the headlights of the occasional passing car. He watches Galo’s chest surge up and down, and Lio yearns to gently press his hand on the surface, to feel his heartbeat underneath the small weight of his palm. 

He compromises with his index finger and gingerly traces it down Galo’s left arm, trails it along the raised flesh and marred skin. It took a while before Galo was comfortable with taking off his sleeve in front of Lio whenever they spent time together. Lio had wondered if it meant something and convinced himself that it didn’t.

Now he thinks it does. Now as he looks at the bow of Galo’s slightly parted lips, at the flush of pink still hanging on to every freckle, at the way his face softens when he turns to look at Lio, it definitely means something. 

Lio knows he should tell him how he feels, he wants to tell him how he feels. Maybe he’ll tell him right now. Maybe he can quietly confess over the calmness of pillowtalk under the watchful eye of the moon. Maybe he can reach out and cradle Galo’s cheek like he so desperately craves, steal a tender touch that maybe wouldn’t be considered stolen.

“I think we should stop doing this.” Galo slowly turns on his left side, smothering his arm beneath his weight, away from Lio’s small touch. 

Physically, Lio knows the words hovering over them like bloated rain clouds were said in Galo’s voice. His brain, however, is having a hard time catching up to his ears.

And so Lio quickly sits up and looks down at Galo, who is pointedly looking at the empty space Lio just left, and eloquently says, “What?”

Under normal circumstances, Lio might have read Galo’s expression as pained, but right now, Lio has no fucking clue if the downturn of Galo’s lips is a result of regret at the prospect of letting this go as long as it did or if it’s because Lio didn’t immediately agree or if it’s because Lio is still here in his bed.

Galo doesn’t move a single muscle. “We should stop doing this.” There isn’t a trace of ice or acidity or disdain in his voice, and Lio wishes there was. He wishes Galo didn’t say it so matter-of-factly.

Lio blinks a few times before responding. Galo still isn’t looking at him. “Okay. Why?”

Galo starts picking at a loose thread on one of the pillows. “You said it yourself, we should just be friends, and I think if we still wanna be good friends, we should probably stop all...this.”

Of course, friends. They should just be friends. Friends don’t fuck around while one of them is hopelessly in love with the other. It’s what Galo wants and what Lio agreed to. 

Lio has never felt so vulnerable being nude, his nakedness suddenly leaving him unguarded and open in a way he doesn’t want to be in front of Galo right now. “Yeah, you’re right. I did say that.” He gets off the bed and starts getting dressed so quickly he almost trips over when his foot gets caught in the leg of his jeans, as if he didn’t already feel fucking humiliated. When he looks up again, Galo is sitting up, and Lio doesn’t even try to sift through the meaning of the glassy sheen over his gaze. 

“I’ll see you later, Galo.” 

Galo doesn’t ask him if he wants to stay, and as Lio walks down the hall, his hand flies to the top of his and catches onto Galo’s beanie. He doesn’t have it in him to take it off, the aroma of citrus and pine following him home. 

A few days later, Lio finds himself alone with Galo in the station’s kitchen. 

He’s been careful since he left Galo’s apartment, only hanging around him if at least two of their friends are also present. It’s been foolproof, they’ve been able to keep up their friendly back and forth without the added weight of...whatever they were doing. 

But Lio is halfway through his second bowl of Reese's Puffs when Galo walks into the kitchen with no one trailing behind. Lio looks up and almost bites through his spoon. Galo is just standing by the entrance, and a mistletoe hangs a few inches above his head. Lio wants to light it on fire. 

“Hey Lio!” Galo looks like he doesn’t know what to do, and Lio rolls his eyes and shoves the chair next to him towards Galo. He’s feeling merciful. 

“Are you just gonna stand there or are you gonna join me?” Lio smirks. Galo’s smile is big and bright and beautiful and Lio _has_ to smile back. Galo strides to the fridge and pulls out a leftover Chinese takeout box that’s definitely been in there for almost a week. Lio bites back a laugh. 

Galo sits down on the open chair. “Are you excited for the exchange tomorrow?”

“I’m ready to take home the cash,” Lio answers.

“Aw, come on!” Galo laughs, and Lio prays to God or the universe or what the hell ever that he’s not blushing. “Aren’t you excited to see the look on your person’s face? You seem convinced you got the best gift.”

Lio swirls his spoon around the rim of his bowl. “Yeah, I guess. What about you? You seemed so sure when we pulled names.”

Galo cards a hand through his hair, and Lio can see the nerves sit on the edge of his mouth. “I was, but I’m feeling doubtful. I’m not sure if my person would even want a gift like this.”

“Galo.” Lio lets go of his spoon and stares him down, giving him a fond, encouraging smile. “You’re the most thoughtful person I know. I’m sure your person will love it.”

Galo is terrible at concealing how he feels and even worse at recovering when he’s realized he’s revealed too much. It’s especially obvious to Lio now when Galo just _looks_ at him like he rivals the splendor of one thousand suns. Lio feels like his chest might collapse, but before he can finally manage to say anything, Galo catches himself, and Lio thinks he’s looking for something that isn’t there.

“I hope so.”

Later that night, Lio stares at Galo’s gift, silvery moonlight glinting off the golden bow. 

Aina and Lucia’s living is way too small to comfortably fit all of them on paper, but somehow they manage to squeeze in there. Lio makes sure he’s sandwiched between Gueira and Meis on the complete other side of the room from Galo. Not that there’s much distance, but it’s all about the principle. 

“Since it’s our house, I think Aina and I should get our gifts first,” Lucia says. She outstretches her hands and wriggles her fingers. Gueira lifts his giant gift and essentially flings it at Lucia, who almost topples over. She doesn’t admonish him, though, and tears through the wrapping paper like she’ll absolutely die if she doesn’t get it open as soon as possible. Lio thinks she just might. 

Once she’s ravaged the packaging, Lucia’s eyes are saucer-like. Gueira gave her what might possibly be the biggest candy dispenser ever built, except instead of being filled with candy, it’s filled with an assortment of packaged desserts, ranging from Ding-Dongs to Twinkies to Zebra Cakes. Lio has never been more jealous in his life. 

“Gueira fucking wins,” Lucia says. She pulls a quarter from her pocket and promptly cranks it into the machine. 

Remi just sighs before handing Aina a perfectly wrapped box. Aina pulls out a commissioned painting of her and Heris as kids, an almost identical replica of the picture hanging on the hall with the added charm of large, thick brushstrokes. 

“Okay, maybe Remi wins,” Lucia says before taking a bite of her Twinkie.

“Hey! He’s not even in on the bet.” Gueira protests. 

Most of the gifts are passed around. Ignis takes off his sunglasses to smile at the most atrocious, tackiest floral button up shirts Lio has ever seen. Lucia is a fiend of a gift-giver. Remi seems pleased with the over-priced fancy coffee Meis got him, and Varys looks over the moon by the leather journal Aina hands him. Gueira can’t stop staring at the vintage lighters Ignis gifted him while Meis smiles in the cable knit sweater Varys made him. There’s Guy Fieri-esque flames on it. 

Galo and Lio are the only two left. God would probably be pissing his pants laughing right now. 

“Well that’s kinda hilarious,” Varys says, and Lio almost flinches. Galo just laughs and laughs and laughs, but Lio doesn’t like the sound. It’s self-deprecating and cold and Lio grinds his teeth. 

Galo stands up and says, “You know what, I’m not feelin’ too good. So I hope it’s okay if I head home early.” He strides quickly over to Lio before anyone can say anything. He takes one of his hands and gently presses a small box into Lio’s palm. “Merry Christmas.” Galo walks away from the living room and out the front door, making sure to gently shut it without slamming it into the frame. His gift still sits in Lio’s lap, and the small box in his palm suddenly feels like it weighs fifteen tons. 

“Should someone go see if he’s okay?” Aina makes it sound like she’s asking in general, but she’s pointedly looking at Lio.

“I’ll go,” he says. 

There’s no way Lio didn’t royally fuck up. He knows this because Galo doesn’t run, has never ran from anything. He got flung out to his death and still came back for seconds just for the possibility of saving Lio. 

But he’s running now, and Lio has to fix this. 

He knocks on Galo’s apartment door a few times but gets no answer. He has Galo’s gift tucked under his arm and feels the weight of the small box in his back pocket. He pulls down on the beanie as a cold gust of air billows around his frame. 

Lio decides to be a little rude and twists the door knob. Of course it’s unlocked.

None of the lights in the space are on, but the glow from the balcony light spills onto the tile, and sure enough Galo is sitting on one of the chairs staring at the sky. Lio sits in the other chair and stares at the clouds as well. Oranges are starting to bleed into the daytime blue, curling in puffy mounds that are pink at the edges. 

“Sorry I broke into your house,” Lio jokes, or at least tries to. He’s relieved when he sees Galo smile.

“It’s my fault for leaving the door unlocked.” 

It’s quiet for a moment, and Lio hates it. He takes Galo’s gift and places it on his lap. 

“Merry Christmas.”

Galo pats the golden bow before hugging the box close to his chest.

“I can’t take this, Lio.”

Confusion is an emotion Lio is entirely unaccustomed to. It’s unsettling. “Why not? You were my person.”

“Because,” Galo starts. He picks at the bow, and he’s still not looking at Lio. “It’ll probably become my favorite thing, and I don’t think I can handle that.”

Now Lio is dumbfounded and heartbroken all at once. “Why would that be a problem?”

“It would be really unfair of me to put that kind of pressure on you and myself.”

If Lio has to ask _why_ again he’s going to actually implode. “Wh—”

“I think I’m in love with you,” Galo blurts out all at once. “Actually, I’m pretty sure I am.”

If God was real, Lio would punch him in the jaw.

“What are you even talking about?” Lio almost shouts. “You’re the one who wanted to be friends. You can’t say things like that and not mean them.” 

“Huh!?” Galo looks incredulous. “ _You’re_ the one who said you just wanted to be friends. You literally said that’s what you wanted.”

“Because I thought that’s what you wanted.” Lio is standing now, arms crossed and frown set in stone. Galo slowly rises as well, leaving his gift on the chair. 

“I only agreed because I didn’t want to put any pressure on you.” Galo fists into his own hair. “I thought I would be okay with sleeping around casually, take what I can get and be grateful for the rest. But then you would never stay and you would touch my arm so gently and _fuck!_ ” He tugs at his own hair. “I couldn’t take it anymore.”

“I never stayed because I thought you were being polite!”

“Why would you think that!?”

Lio mulls that over for a moment. That and every little instance he’s shared with Galo. The hopeful sheen that would gloss over his gaze every time he asked, the way he looked at him at the firehouse kitchen. 

“We’re both the biggest fucking idiots around,” Lio says. 

“What do you mean both? Pretty sure I’m the buffoon with the unrequited feelings,” Galo bitterly answers.

“Because I’m pretty sure I’m in love with you, too.” 

The following silence is heavy, and Lio thinks those puffy orange clouds might fall on them. They’re just staring at each other, the cold barely able to keep it’s frigidity up in the midst of the warmth growing in between.

“Seriously?” Galo asks with a growing grin.

Lio grins right back. “Seriously.”

Galo’s hands wrap themselves around Lio immediately, and Lio has Galo’s face cradled in his palms. It feels so good to touch him like this, to take the time to count every freckle on those cheeks, to stare at the flecks of midnight azure speckled over sparkling celeste. 

Lio has kissed Galo thousands of times, but of course this time is different. It’s unhurried and unbothered, soft and languid and perfect. He laughs when he can feel Galo smile against his lips. 

“Galo,” he whispers. “Open your gift.”

“I don’t wanna let you go.”

“Don’t be a baby.”

Lio already misses the warmth, but is soon satisfied when Galo unravels his gift and his jaw almost hits the floor. Always so dramatic. The colors of the glass matoi are rapturous under the setting sun, but the glimmer is no match for the unreserved awe twinkling in Galo’s eye. Lio has already forgotten about the money jar. 

“Lio, this is the best gift I’ve ever gotten.”

“I know.”

Galo snorts before waving Lio indoors so he can set the matoi down on a shelf. It looks like he’s already had it for ages.

“Alright, your turn. Open your gift.” Galo fidgets with the hem of his sweater as Lio digs the small box from his back pocket and opens it. Lio fights back the sting pricking behind his eyes.

Inside, a pair of earrings in the shape of the Promare sit in a bed of white satin. The purples and pinks and blues dance in scintillating prisms, almost as if they were alive. Lio carefully takes them out of the box and stares.

“You once said you missed them,” Galo says. “I hope you like them.”

Lio had only mentioned them once underneath the safety of Galo’s comforter. It was a rare moment of raw honesty, and Galo had held him throughout the whole confession. 

“I adore them.” Lio takes off the breadclip pair he’s got on now and replaces them with Galo’s gift. They feel nice and light on his lobes, and Lio loves the flush of pink that creeps up on Galo’s ears. 

Galo pulls Lio into a hug, and Lio wraps his arms around his neck. He can’t believe how easy it all feels.

“Do you wear my beanie all the time?” Galo’s breath tickles Lio’s neck and he can’t hold back a giggle.

“Yeah. Do you want it back?”

“No. Keep it.” Galo holds Lio even tighter.

They stay like for minutes, hours, days, Lio isn’t keeping count. Galo pulls away to kiss Lio’s forehead and asks, “Do you wanna stay?”

The orange puffs in the sky have completely taken over, but the dark cobalt hues of night are tight on their heels. Soon, they’ll be blanketed by moonlight, and Lio wants to laugh.

“Yeah, I’ll stay.”

**Author's Note:**

> Remi won the money jar. 
> 
> Title is from Seekers Who Are Lovers by the Cocteau Twins. 
> 
> Thanks for reading, and happy holidays. I’m on [twitter](https://twitter.com/jenstarlol).


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